


But He Wasn't

by Ihateallergies



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pain, Team as Family, spoilers for episode 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6179650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihateallergies/pseuds/Ihateallergies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode 7 aftermath. Because I can't stop thinking about it. And neither will Len.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But He Wasn't

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest, this episode messed me up. More than Carter because I didn't even like him, More than even Cisco (who is my number one favorite anything of anything ever) because I watched it on Netflix and didn't have to let that pain stew for a week.
> 
> I'm hurting and honestly I could punch Rip in the throat for what he said to Mick, BUT this isn't about that. This story is about Len and it's about family.

Len came back to the Waverider alone. His face was probably wreck; not the stoic image he’d worked so hard to present to these people. He didn’t care. Mick was gone for them, and, God, if he had to do it again, he would, for them, for their families, but, Mick was gone. At his hand, and, oh, God-

As soon as he was on board, he threw aside the Cold Gun like it’d burned him.

Ray Palmer picked it up wordlessly and Len almost let himself be amused at how gone he be to let the boy scout touch his weapon. Almost. It was an observation Mick would’ve made, but couldn’t now, thanks to him, and oh, God-

He shook his head, looking at anything else other than the people he’d chosen over Mick, wringing his hands together, feeling smaller than he had since the day Mick had rescued him in Juvie. Rip clasped his shoulder firmly for a few seconds, silent, and Len just let him. A sob wracked his body. If Mick were here, he’d have said that whatever animal was in throes of death should just be put down already, smirk hiding whatever emotion he was capable of that normal people would call care. But-

He was walking, following whoever numbly; too busy trying not to fall to pieces to pay much attention. It wasn’t an exercise in trust, even though he’d never even followed Lisa blindly like that. It’s more that he couldn’t even think to mistrust these people right now. The guard that he’d built, that Mick helped build, was down, whether he wanted it to be or not. So he followed, too deep in his own head to know where they were going or to even hear if they were speaking.

He blinked, and they were in the main deck. He probably knew Kendra the least, maybe because she had 4,000 years of personality, but when she sat against the main console and practically pulled Len into her lap, he went wordlessly. His face was pressed against her thigh as she pet his hair, murmuring in a language that he didn’t recognize. If she cared that he was dampening her jeans with his tears, she said nothing about it.

Jax sat down on his other side, head bowed. Len can’t help but think of the time that the kid helped him and Mick steal that damned emerald, and the meeting with his younger self. He told Leo, told himself, not to let anybody hurt his head or his heart. In a way, he’d kept his promise to himself; his chest and his head hurt both literally and figuratively at the moment, but no one had done it to him. He did it himself.

Rip and Sara came back in -and when did they leave, he didn’t know- with seven cups and a bottle of whiskey. He poured and she passed out the drinks, and Stein didn’t even say anything when she gave a cup to Jax, and, God, it must’ve been, bad if the professor held his tongue-

She crouched in front of him, cup offered, head tilted to the side, face unassuming. He pulled himself from Kendra’s lap, considering her for a moment. She was the one he was closest to on the ship... Besides Mick, that is. But Mick wasn’t on the Waverider anymore, so-

He snatched the cup from her, downing it in one gulp. He also, might’ve have scratched her in the process, but he couldn’t make his vocal chords form words at the moment. She didn’t look offended, and he for that he was grateful; he couldn’t take alienating yet another friend on this trip- he really knew how to make himself hurt worse- all she did was pour her share of liquor into his cup. He sipped slowly from it this time.

Around him they traded stories; talked about Mick, talked about his antics like the man hadn’t threatened to kill them all just hours earlier. It may have been the liquor that they dutifully refilled every time his cup was empty, but it warmed some part of him; soothed some part of him inside that threatened to crumble. They’d seen glimpses of the Mick he knew- he’d known. Not just the unstable pyromaniac, but the man who was as loyal to you as you were to him.

He faded in and out of the conversation around him. Sometimes they talked about things he knew already, sometimes about things that Mick hadn’t even bothered to mention. Sometimes, they offered new perspectives on old stories. Mick had mentioned that Palmer had got his teeth kicked multiple times while they were in the Russian prison but he’d never mentioned that he repeatedly kept trying to save Ray from himself. _“He seemed almost… ruthless at the time, but thinking back on it, he probably just didn’t want to see me hurt,”_ Ray had said. They all hummed as they took sips from their drinks. It was comforting to know that people would mourn Mick besides him and Lisa-

He’d have to tell Lisa, have to tell her that Mick was dead and he was the one to kill him. She’d understand; she had to. She knew how he was. She was probably the only other person on Earth besides Len who did. She’d understand, but would she forgive him? She had to. He needed her to.

He didn’t know how many drinks he was deep when they cut him off, but it was hard to stand and walking straight was impossible. If Mick was here, he would laugh and say Len couldn’t do anything straight, and Len would roll his eyes and smirk, but wouldn’t-couldn’t disagree. But he-

The professor and Jax walked him back to his and Mick’s- his- room and his and Mick’s- the guns are in their custom built wall mounts. Len’s face was numb from the alcohol, but he pressed it into his palms and, yes, his face was still wet.

He walked in, and Stein and Jax floundered at the entrance like they didn’t know if they should leave him alone. He made the decision for them, closing the door in their faces with a touch to the keypad.

Neither he nor Mick were a ‘personal items’ kind of person. If you wanted to keep it, it had better be able to fit on your person at all times. The closest either of them came to that were their guns, and Len couldn’t stand the sight of either at the moment. He ripped the sterile white blanket from his regulation made bunk and tossed it over the weapons. If he were there, Mick would've said that that hiding his problems wouldn’t make them go away, but, by all means, keep trying. Len wondered when his brain would stop filling for Mick.

Mick’s side was chaotic, as always. The bed wasn’t made, hadn’t been made since their first night on the Waverider. Even when he got clean linens, he just put on the fitted sheet and piled everything else on top for when he was ready. Clothes littered his side of the room, clean probably, unfolded definitely. A spare pare of work boots were by his chair and his other leather jacket hung on the back. It looked like he was coming back any minute, ready to dare Len into complaining about his mess. He wasn’t though.

Len knocked over his own chair violently. He wished he were messier, wished he was the keepsake type of person, because he really wanted to throw shit, he really wanted to break things at the moment. He didn’t dare touch Mick’s side, almost afraid that his things would burn him like the fire the man loved. Instead, he tossed around that chair like it was the source of his problems, like it was the one who killed Mick, not him.

Distantly, behind all his self directed hate, he could hear Gideon calling his name. He didn’t listen, didn’t care. Gideon was Siri with less personality programmed in, what could she _possibly_ -

Len kicked the chair and wasn’t drunk enough not to feel the pain as the bone in his toe cracked. He let out an anguished yell, and he didn’t know if it was from physical pain or from his grief. He sunk to the floor and sobbed into his knee, the one attached to the leg without the broken toe. Mick would laugh, but-

Palmer came in a minute later- and he was sure he’d locked the door- and helped him stand, halfway supporting him so he wouldn’t have to put too much weight in his injured foot. Ray wasn’t physically weak by any stretch of the imagination, but he couldn’t lift him, at least not for very far or very long. The only one who really could was Mick, but-

In the infirmary, Rip set his toe and Gideon offered him sedatives as well as an IV. Len accepted, not that he didn’t think he wouldn’t get them anyway if he didn’t calm down. He wanted them, though, because he’d do anything not to feel for a while. Mick would’ve arched an eyebrow and said that hospital drugs were pain to steal and would’ve told him not to get too attached, but-

Sara came in and set at his leaning her head onto his cot. She told him stories of how she was a wild child and a terrible sibling to her own big sister as he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

 

 

 

Len woke up feeling fresher than he had in a long time, and for second, he forgot. He forgot that he’d destroyed his own world to save everyone else’s. It all came painfully back to him, along with the dull throb in his toe. Sara’s head was still near him, barely moved from when he saw her last night. He shifted awkwardly, and she blinked awake.

“Good, you’re up.” She said, voice, huskier than usual from sleep. “Are you hungry?”

The questions were abnormally normal, even if his life hadn’t been flipped upside down the night before. He was so surprised by the questioning, all he couldn’t do was answer honestly. “I don’t think I could eat if I wanted to.” He wasn’t hungover thanks to whatever fluids Gideon gave him, but the hollowness he felt inside couldn’t be filled with food.

“Okay then,” she said simply. “Do you want wash up or change before we go?”

“Go where? When?”

Sara shook her head. “To Mick’s funeral,” she answered. “Things may have ended wrong, but for a while he was as much a part of this team as everyone else.”

“I-” He was astounded at these people. Mick had personally tried his damnedest to kill Sara less than 24 hours ago. He told her as much.

“If I’m still good friends with someone who actually succeeded in killing me, I can forgive a dead man,” Sara answered, unwavering even as he flinched at her use of the adjective.

He stared for moment then said. “I’ll change… but, uh-”

“I’ll get you some clothes,” Sara said, and a part of him felt like he should be worried that there was someone else in the world that knew what he needed without him having to articulate it, but the bigger part was just grateful… for a lot of reasons.

He washed his face and his neck in the sink of the infirmary bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked older than he had. His hair was grayer, the lines on his face were more pronounced. Not that he really cared about that. It was just another thing Mick wouldn’t be around to tease him about. Even in their early 20’s Mick would swear he could see the wrinkles forming because he worried too much. If he were here, Mick would say that Len needed to relax or he’d be as gray as the professor before long. But-

“Miss Lance left your clothing on the chair Mr. Snart,” Gideon said. “She wishes to inform you that you that she’s waiting at the port exit.”

He didn’t respond, only dried his face and put on the clothes Sara laid out for him. It wasn’t much, but he felt human again, or, at least as human as he’d ever felt. He tossed his old outfit into the incinerator meant for medical waste. He doubted he’d ever wear it again anyway.

Sara waited for him like Gideon said, illuminated by the glow of the sunrise in the bay door. It was earlier than he thought. “I thought you’d be limping,” she said idly.

“The miracle of futuristic drugs,” he snarked, but his heart wasn’t in it. His toe still hurt, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to hiding his injuries. The only people that could see through his facade were Lisa and- was Lisa.

She only hummed. “Ready?”

The walked in silence to the clearing where he’d left… where he’d left things. He hadn’t been worried about wild animals at the time, but then again, all he could worry about was putting one foot in front of the other. He assumed that the cold had driven an scavengers away but he couldn’t say because someone had covered his body with a white sheet. He only noticed after that the other’s stood around the body, murmuring to each other, and, if Mick were here, he’d get on him about being unobservant.

They hushed themselves as they saw Len and Sara approach. Kendra grasped his hand and he didn’t pull away, so she leaned into him briefly. Before dropping his hand and kneeling at Mick’s side and speaking in that same language that she murmured in last night. She nodded and stood but then looked almost as bewildered as her friends.

“What did you say?” Jax asked.

“I prayed to Nephthys and Anubis, the goddess and god of the underworld, for his safe passage,” she said, almost as a question. “Her husband, his father, Seth, is the god of chaos, disorder and violence. Since Mick is a true follower,” and, despite himself, Len couldn’t help but be amused. _‘Sounds like my kinda guy,’_ Mick would say. “I’m certain his journey will be easy.” She finished more confident than she started.

“Thank you, Kendra,” Rip said. “Would anybody else like to say anything?” Everyone looked at Len, not expectant, just waiting.

He could probably shake his head, no. They wouldn’t begrudge him or judge him for ducking his head. Mick, would though. “Mick was a hot head. A danger to himself and those around him.” He watched as the other’s glanced awkwardly at each other. “No point in lying about. Mick was a scary guy who earned every bit of his reputation and then some.” His voice was strong. Stronger than he expected it to be. It broke now. “But damn it, be on the right side of the fury, and he’d have your back.” He’d been staring resolutely at a place just to the left of Mick, but now he could barely keep his eyes open. “He had my back for damn near 30 years.”

He took a clearing breath, which sounded more like a distressed yell, but no one called him on it. “However it ended, Mick saved my life more than he tried to take it.”

The others echoed the similar sentiments.

Minutes or an hour later Rip said, “Thank you for your service, Mr. Rory.” He bowed, then turned to Stein and Jax. “Professor Stein, Mr. Jackson, could you please?”

They nodded then merged, and Sara had to use some strength to pull him back. He’d planted his feet without even realizing. The other’s had already moved back a safe distance before he’d realized what was going on.

They’d never really talked about funeral plans. A part of him always assumed that they both go down together in some heist where they’d gotten in over their heads. It wasn’t really a stretch of the imagination that Mick would want to be cremated, though.

Firestorm lit him with a blast of energy, and Mick’s body was consumed by flames almost instantly. He couldn’t feel the heat from this distance, but he could see perfectly well. The fire was throwing the surrounding trees into sharp orange relief, white smoke billowing into the air and blending with the wispy morning clouds. The blaze danced wildly, scorching the ground black where it got out of control and Firestorm had to reabsorb the excess energy. Mick would call it beautiful and maybe yell at Jax and Stein for not letting the fire run it’s natural course, If he were here.

But he wasn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [@Lun3lla](http://lun3lla.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr if you'd like to commiserate with me.


End file.
